


The Game Is On

by sadieb798



Series: The Start of Something [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crime Solving, F/M, Flirting, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Laughter, Love, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, No Spoilers, Other, Pining Sherlock, Post-The Empty Hearse, Pre-The Sign of Three, Series 3, Teasing, discussed cross-dressing, relationships, sex trade ring, wedding dress shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadieb798/pseuds/sadieb798
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She could have screamed in frustration. Did nobody understand how hard she bloody worked to get to this point with Sherlock??</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Game Is On

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't supposed to happen. This was supposed to be the last installment but nooooo, it just HAD to be stretched longer. The bit in the first shop wasn't supposed to happen, but then Sherlock opened his big mouth and it happened anyway, I had absolutely NO say. It's been a while since I've been in a wedding, so I may have forgotten how this works...

It was a lovely day.

The sun was shining brightly, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky; not even a drizzle of rain as Mary emerged from the Underground. As she approached the bridal shop a few minutes earlier than she’d told Sherlock she’d meet him, Mary found to her delight the sight of the gangly man in the dramatic coat standing outside the door to the shop waiting for her.

Mary smiled to herself; she took his eagerness as a good omen.

“I’ve been researching,” Sherlock said in greeting as Mary got closer, as he frowned at the shop door. “And this shop is one of the least popular shops in the twenty-foot radius. It’s very obscure; there’s not one single review of it online.”

“True,” she replied, smiling, “but it is within my spending limit.” She threaded her arm through his and led him to the door. His eyes only flickered down to their linked limbs for a split second, but said nothing; he only placed his gloved hand over hers and continued to frown at the offending shop.

“Besides,” Mary whispered conspiratorially, opening the shop door, causing the bell overhead to tinkle in greeting, “I understand it’s known for having some delicious lingerie.”

Sherlock frowned in confusion. He opened his mouth to say more, but just then a pretty young woman in a dark pantsuit with a name-tag that read ‘Amanda’ greeted them. “Miss Morstan?” She asked Mary.

“Yes,” Mary answered.

“Welcome. I’m Amanda, and I’ll be assisting you today,” Amanda said, giving Mary her most winning smile. “This way if you please.” She gave Sherlock a brief look before leading them both towards the back of the shop.

“I don’t understand,” Sherlock said, as they passed through the shop. There were several what must have been dressing areas against the far wall that were sectioned apart from each other by large cream-coloured sheets that hung from wires, and a dais in a large area towards the centre of the shop that was surrounded by chairs on one side, and three large mirrors on the other.

His translucent eyes roved over the areas they passed of the shop.

“Well that’s also why you’re here,” Mary said, once Amanda led them to an empty dressing area, past the dais. “I need your opinion on lingerie. What do you know of it?”

“John and I once worked a case where our client had a penchant for wearing a thong under his business suit--” Sherlock began to rattle off.

“I already heard that one,” Mary said, smiling slightly in reminder.

“Oh,” he said, blinking once in surprise. “Almost nothing then.” 

Mary stared at him. It appeared to her, that Sherlock knew something was up. He had that funny look on his face he got sometimes when they were out and about; the I-know-something’s-up-I-just-don’t-know-what-yet-I-need-more-data face as his eyes flickered to all the corners around the shop. Mary smiled a bit to herself.

“Well we’ll just stick to dresses for now, shall we?” She said, giving his arm a reaffirming squeeze and a small smile. The corner of his lips quirked in response.

“Miss Morstan if I could have your measurements?” Amanda asked politely. “And then we can begin--”

“Size 12,” Sherlock answered automatically just as Mary opened her mouth to respond. Mary turned to Sherlock, who was busy absorbing the room around them. She smiled, pleased that he paid attention after all and filed that little tidbit away for later. Mary then turned back to the confused woman and nodded her affirmation. 

“If you care to leave your things, I can show you the size 12 section,” Amanda suggested, “I promise your things will be safe he--”

“Mary we may want to find another shop,” Sherlock said quickly, snaking his arm away from Mary’s so that he turned his back on the girl swiftly before leaning down to Mary and muttering close to her ear.

“Why’s that?” Mary asked, turning her head fractionally to the side to face him. If she leaned further a centimeter, she could have kissed him.

“Because this shop’s no shop at all,” Sherlock responded easily, “it’s actually a front for a sex-trafficking ring.”

The silence that fell was one that was like an anvil in one of those Saturday morning cartoon programs. It landed heavy with a loud bang that was practically deafening.

“Ex _cuse_  me?” Amanda asked, outraged.

“Sherlock I think you’d better perhaps explain,” Mary said, turning fully to face the consulting detective, meeting his transcendent eyes.

“Doesn’t it seem a bit odd,” Sherlock said, straightening to his full height before he flickered his gaze around the shop. “Early March, spring approaching--a popular time to get married really--and yet  _this_  shop is completely  _empty_.” He turned to Amanda at this, his eyes sharp enough to cut through solid walls. “Not a customer in sight.”

Mary only took a moment to survey the area, and found, as always with Sherlock, that he was absolutely right.

“Then there’s the dressing areas,” Sherlock continued.

“The sheet-separators?” Mary asked.

“Slap-dash at best,” Sherlock agreed.

“No tiaras or veils out on display either,” Mary mused, noting with pleasure at the colour draining from Amanda’s face. “Bit odd that.”

“Well, so little time to shop,” Sherlock said, shrugging. “Business being what it is...”

“Okay so where would they keep the women?” Mary asked.

“Men  _and_  women,” Sherlock corrected. “In the ‘size 12 section’--I can tell a false wall when I see one.”

“So shop fronts as an affordable wedding dress/lingerie shop in order to lure women who don’t want to, or can’t, spend too much on wedding gowns--” Mary began.

“And the shop assistant leads them into the back where she drugs them with chloroform,” Sherlock finished. “Yes.”

“Huh,” Mary said, lifting her arms to cross across her chest.

The two were silent for a moment before they fixed their eyes on the girl Amanda who looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a police car.

“Are there any  _actual_  wedding dresses here?” Mary asked the girl, turning back to face her.

“N-no ma’am,” Amanda stuttered in surprise.

“Oh. Right.” Mary said, nodding her head. “Right. You’ve phoned the police, yeah?” she asked, turning back to face Sherlock.

“They should be arriving in two minutes,” Sherlock responded, turning and smiling down at Mary, looking pleased with himself.

“Don’t think this means we’re not still shopping for a dress,” Mary warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sherlock said, as though that was the last thought on his mind. “I’m looking forward to torturing the shop assistants.”

“Don’t you dare,” Mary scolded, but already cracking into a grin. Sherlock returned the smile.

“Who  _are_  you people?” Amanda asked, at last finding her voice.

“Sherlock Holmes,” Sherlock responded, gesturing to himself and then to Mary. “Mary Morstan you’ve met. Consulting detectives.”

“He’s the best man at my wedding,” Mary said, smiling proudly as the distinct sound of police sirens could be heard growing closer.

* * *

The next shop they went to was much better. For one, there were plenty of women and their families inside, so already that was a promising start.

Mary and Sherlock spent an hour and a half browsing through the wide variety of dresses, sometimes arguing over why this one shade of white was more opal than white, and why that dress’s particular cut wouldn’t be flattering at all on Mary. Eventually they each picked two dresses that passed the preliminary tests, and then requested that the assistant helping them, Shaun--who was obviously, according to Sherlock, gay with a gambling habit whom Sherlock found paid more attention to him than to the actual bride but used that in their favour as he flirted with the man to get what they needed faster--find one in Mary’s size.

Each time Sherlock flirted with Shaun, Mary noted with amazement at how his mannerisms would undergo a complete transformation as he adopted a more overt persona, and would give Shaun an obvious to Mary false smile that had no business whatsoever being on Sherlock’s face.

It was only when Shaun went away to get the dresses they requested, that Sherlock would frown deeply, looking bored and tired. Mary did not want Sherlock to be bored and so took it upon herself to remedy that.

“Hey,” She said, poking him as they sat side-by-side on the chairs outside their designated dressing room.

“Hm?” He asked, turning his eyes to her.

“Thanks for coming with me,” She said, giving him a very lovely smile. “I’d be on my way to Indonesia right about now if it weren’t for you.”

“Please,” Sherlock said, giving her a soft eyeroll. “They were going to Thailand.”

“You know what I mean,” Mary said, smiling wider and waggling her eyebrows at him.

“You would have figured it out,” Sherlock said in a tone that suggested that this was an irrefutable fact.

“No I wouldn’t’ve,” Mary replied. “I’d be gone and poor John and you would’ve been stuck with barely a hundred guests, a wedding, a groom but no bride.”

Sherlock shrugged. “We would have figured it out. Besides, I would have noticed something was wrong and immediately surmised what had happened.”

Mary quirked an eyebrow in response, but couldn’t help smiling wider.

“You could always  _marry_  John to avoid the scandal,” Mary said, allowing her tone to turn teasing. “You’d just have to change the names on the invitations and send them out again.”

“A waste of money,” Sherlock said, quirking a smile. “Much more successful to put on a dress and avoid looking at anyone.”

Mary giggled at that, Sherlock smiling softly. “You’d do that? Impersonate me for an entire day and avoid almost everyone? On my  _wedding day_?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said. Mary laughed loudly, and Sherlock joined in softly. 

“No,” Sherlock began after they’d quieted down, taking her hand in his, surprising Mary by the gesture. “If you had been kidnapped and sold into the sex trade, I wouldn’t rest until I found you again.”

Mary looked at him,  _really_  looked at him. He was staring down at their joined hands, ghosting his thumb over hers, and avoiding her gaze. But he didn’t look tense at all as he sat in the uncomfortable chair by her side. He looked sure; resolute in what he’d just said. She realized that she believed him without a doubt.

“Why?” She asked. “Why would you do that?”

Sherlock turned to look at her, staring at her as though the answer should have been an obvious one, and obvious it was, but she needed to hear him say it.

“Because John loves you,” he said simply.

Mary stared for a moment into his eyes. Though they were analytical and distant, behind them they held sadness. He knew he was losing John to Mary, and though he loved him, and could very well have had him again should Mary have gone missing, he would still have gone to the ends of the Earth until he found her because John Watson would have been devastated and that was something that was not allowed to happen. 

Mary was deeply touched by the sentiment.

She realized that for all his genius, and cold and calculating distance towards people, Sherlock Holmes held something far few people could astoundingly easily. It was a big heart, and the capacity to love far greater than most people could or even understand. The proof of this was an obvious one: he’d faked his own suicide, and gone into hiding, where he spent two whole years crumpling a criminal mastermind’s elaborate crime web to the ground. All to prevent the three people who mattered most to him from being assassinated.

That was only just  _one_  great example of his gestures of love, among the tiny little examples that Mary had only heard about.

“And me?” She breathed, keeping her gaze fixed on his eyes, not daring to look away should the answer flicker there for a brief second. “Do you love me?”

Sherlock was silent as he mulled the question over. He understood the question’s importance, as Mary knew he would, and was trying to choose an answer that would not only satisfy them both, but also be an honest one. This fact, however, did not stop Mary’s insides from clenching tightly in apprehension. But by some miracle, she managed to remain calm as she stared expectantly at him.

He opened his mouth to speak, “I--”

“Here we are!” Shaun sang loudly, coming back round the corner, with the four beautiful gowns Mary and Sherlock chose draped across his outstretched arms. “These will look  _fabulous_  on you, I guarantee it!” He said smiling.

Sherlock quickly rose from his chair, dropping Mary’s hand and walked away from her without a word or a glance.

Mary blinked in confusion, her hand quickly growing cold from the lack of contact. She could have screamed in frustration. Did nobody understand how  _hard_  she bloody worked to get to this point with Sherlock?? And how  _close_  she was before it was ripped mercilessly from her fingers?!

The idiot shop assistant just stared between them both, wondering if he did something wrong and rightly so: Mary wanted nothing more than to throttle him, and knew it would have given her all the pleasure in the world if she did so.

Instead she managed to rein in her anger, and give him a very false smile before she gritted out “Thank you” between her tightly clenched teeth. The idiot smiled nicely and left her alone with her dresses.

Mary scooped up the dresses, taking them with her into the dressing room where she pulled the drapes roughly closed behind her and hung the dresses firmly up on the hook.

She tried to work through how she could try to salvage her mission because no way in  _hell_  was she giving up now after how long and how hard she worked to get to this point. Mary roughly undressed, grumbling quietly to herself and tried three dresses on alone, not bothering to take the time to gaze at her form appreciatively in the mirror or savour what should be a deep soul-altering moment for any bride. Instead she would glance at herself in the mirror, mutter no and undress before trying on another dress as she tried to plot out what she would do next.

It was only when she was trying on the final dress, one that she couldn’t remember which of them picked out, that she was having trouble zipping it up in the back.

“Oh come  _on_ ,” she muttered, rolling her eyes, trying harder to contort her arm in order to zip up the dress. She sucked her gut in a bit as she continued to struggle, she thought it to be caught on something. In a moment of frustration Mary stomped her foot petulantly.

Suddenly she felt cool fingers brush against hers on the zipper and she stilled, holding in her breath in shock.

“Let go,” Sherlock’s voice rumbled. 

She looked up into the mirror, seeing Sherlock’s reflection behind hers with the drapes of the dressing room closed behind them. He met her reflection’s eyes briefly before fixing his gaze back onto the zipper. Mary dropped her hands to her sides.

“Breathe out,” he said. She did so. “Now breath in just a bit.”

Mary took in a slight lungful of air. Sherlock bent down so that he could better examine her zipper. He gently held her waist with a large hand, while the other one pulled back fabric, the whole thing time causing goose pimples to crawl up her spine.

At last he got it uncaught. He held the zipper in his thumb and forefinger, and began to raise the zipper up her back ever-so-slowly, his knuckles brushing along her back until the dress was successfully closed.

“Breathe out,” Sherlock commanded and Mary complied, exhaling in a slow, even breath. She finally looked at herself in the mirror.

The dress looked lovely on her. It was cream-coloured, with lace flowers embroidered on the slip that covered over the rest of the dress.

“This is the one,” She breathed, not taking her eyes off herself in the mirror.

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed. She looked up at him, his eyes met hers in the mirror.

She smiled at him. “Thank you,” she said, reaching back for his hand and taking it in hers before giving it a squeeze.

The corner of his lips quirked in a smile. “You’re welcome,” he said. He then bent forwards, his face just centimeters from her shoulder, making her inhale sharply in surprise. He pursed his lips and gave her shoulder a feather-light kiss. Mary shuddered with the sensation.

“I think,” Sherlock said, rising back to his full height, dropping her hand unexpectedly. Mary looked back up at his reflection, where he met her gaze again in the mirror. His eyes were sharp and calculating as he evaluated her. “That you have a  _lot_  of explaining to do, Mary Morstan.”

**Author's Note:**

> Busted!


End file.
